


Sink or Swim

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Ancient Devices, Captivity, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, SGA Secret Santa 2014, Telepathy, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3080516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it had been such a normal mission, too. Just your everyday trade-with-the-primitive-people mission, like a thousand they’ve done before without incident in this stupid galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sink or Swim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gottalovev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/gifts).



> Thanks to Brinnanza for the beta read, to the SGA Secret Santa mods, and to librarychick94 for making this my first work to be podfic'ed, because you're all amazing!

“This is _all your fault!_ ” hisses Rodney as Sheppard grabs him by the shoulder of his tac vest and yanks him forward into a gap between the rocks.

“Shut up, Rodney,” Sheppard replies, voice harsh and almost inaudible in Rodney’s ear as he drags him into the cave and shoves him forward, then tumbles down beside him. Rodney nearly curses out loud when Sheppard’s fingers brush the bit of skin beside the collar of his shirt and a wave of emotion that he can’t quite break down into individual _feelings_ nearly swamps him.

 _Goddamn Ancients,_ he thinks angrily, pulling away and tugging his jacket sleeves until they cover his hands.

And it had been such a _normal_ mission, too. Just your everyday trade-with-the-primitive-people mission, like a thousand they’ve done before without incident in this stupid galaxy. This particular one involved a people that Teyla had heard about second-hand, and who were said to have relics from the Ancients and a particularly hearty strain of a vegetable halfway between wheat and chickpeas. He should have known everything would go wrong.

***

**Six Hours Earlier**

When they step through the gate on M46-834, a crowd of smiling men in robes move forward and surround them as Teyla begins her traditional little welcome speech. Before she can get out more than a sentence, though, they’re herded down the path to a bustling village, full of thatched roofs, whitewashed walls, and ruminants in pens, to the largest building in the center of town. Sheppard grips his P90 tightly, fingers white-knuckled despite his easy smile, and Ronon’s gun is just barely in its holster. Rodney’s pretty sure it’s just Teyla’s influence that’s keeping them from bloodshed. Well, that, and the large, Ancient-plus-basic-electronics devices three of the priests have trained on them as soon as they enter the square. And it says something about the kind of life Rodney’s been leading these last couple years that that doesn’t even really register as a major threat.

It’s all very civilized though, compared to some planets, and he supposes he should be grateful for that much, anyway. No one’s been shot at yet, and the natives are still smiling (and it’s not a _welcome honored guests_ smile, or that crazed, wraith-worshipper smile, either; somewhere in between, more like excited-for-religious-hooey smiling if he’s reading them right, which he is, because hello, _genius_ ).

But of course, it doesn’t stay so calm. It never does. There’s a special magic _test_ , which of course is a piece of Ancient technology that Colonel Magic Genes makes light up like a Christmas tree (and okay, yes, it glows a little when it’s pressed to Rodney’s face). And then Teyla and Ronon are shown to the door and apparently led back to the Stargate, while the two of them are tossed in a cell, weapons confiscated, and–confusingly–given a banquet table of food and drink before the door swings shut with a loud, ominous _click_.

“This is just great,” Rodney says, staring at the closed door. “Just what I wanted to be doing on this mission. Locked in another cell by superstitious natives.” He turns to John. “And that thing definitely did _something_ to me. Not just the usual ‘check for the gene’ sort of thing, either.”

John pokes at the bowl of bread-like puffs on the table. They remind Rodney of the poori from the Indian restaurant down the street from his Colorado Springs apartment, although that wasn’t usually served with what look like grapes the size of mangoes, and his stomach grumbles. “Better spread than the usual cell, though,” John observes, picking up a grape-thing and sniffing it. 

“Don’t _eat_ it!” Rodney grabs for it, a veteran of the consequences of eating bizarre alien fruits, and John yanks his hand back. “You don’t know what it is! They could be trying to–HA!” He finally gets a hand around the fruit and starts to yank it away when suddenly he’s filled with an unfamiliar burst of annoyance, anger, and what’s maybe a little bit of relief. He gasps, somewhere in the back of his mind registering that John’s tense all over, and they both fall a step back. 

The feeling is gone as quickly as it began.

“What the hell was that?” says John, sprawled on the floor, forgotten fruit squashed beside him in a lurid purple smear.

“I–” Rodney takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “I have no idea.” He shudders. “But let’s try and _not_ do it again, how about that?”

John sits up carefully. “Agreed.” He pulls himself up to a standing position and brushes off the back of his pants. “The fruit, you think?”

Rodney shrugs. “Could be the fruit, the room, the planet, the sun–could be anything. It could be our _cells exploding_ , or radiation–do you know how much radiation we’re exposed to, Colonel?–or, or–” he sags. “It could be anything. I’ve got nothing.”

John shakes his head and paces across the room and back, glaring at the door. “I don’t like it.”

Rodney rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m getting that.” He eyes the table, trying to remind himself again that eating the delicious-smelling pastries is probably a bad thing.

“Did you–” John lets out a _woosh_ of a sigh. “Did it give you, well, a feeling?”

“I mean, yeah, whatever it was had an emotional component. It wasn’t quite what I was feeling, either.”

John freezes and turns slowly towards Rodney. “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to be feeling sort of annoyed and terrified and kind of hungry, would you? With just a little bit of nausea thrown in?”

Rodney looks up and meets John’s eyes. “Yes, actually–oh _no_.”

“Well.” John’s answering smile is grim. “At least it’s not a _stranger’s_ weirdly intrusive emotions, right?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure which would be worse.” Rodney’s voice is tense, and he tries to stuff any emotions down into a box deep under his conscious mind, but really, that just makes him more freaked out. So instead, he does what usually helps him deal with wayward feelings, and focuses on the problem at hand. “So what, we had some sort of _emotion exchange_?” He doesn’t wait for John to answer before he continues, snapping his fingers. “I bet it was that device, the one that got us thrown in here!”

“What, it’s a–” John frowns, “–a feelings machine? What the hell use would that be, Rodney? And how do we keep it from doing it again?”

“Well, how should I know? And excuse me for hypothesizing! I have exactly the same data you do, and you don’t seem to be coming up with anything, Mr. I-Could-Have-Been-Mensa!” He reaches out and gives John a shove, and when his fingers brush the edge of John’s forearm where it peeks out from his rolled up sleeves, he’s hit with another burst of emotion, crashing over him like a wave as John lets out a choked gasp. “Okay, seriously, not cool.” He shudders. “So it’s touch-based, obviously.”

John rolls down his sleeves, tugging at them, and shoves himself back until he’s against the wall, a good four feet from Rodney. “Obviously.” He tugs at the cuffs of his jacket until its sleeves cover his palms. “Now how do we _stop_ it? And while we’re thinking, how about a way out of here before they come back for whatever they want our genes for.” Discomfort flickers across his face. “Weapons or breeding. It’s always weapons or breeding.”

“Well, we do have _exceptional_ genes,” says Rodney, a little absently, since he’s started running careful fingers around the doorframe.

John follows suit, examining the window frame and working his fingers into the gap between the shutters until he can locate the latch. Grimacing, he shoves his index finger a little deeper and pops the latch open with a careful flick. The shutters ease open a few inches and he peeks through.

“We’re just about ten feet up,” he reports, and Rodney abandons his examination of the door to join him beside the window, carefully keeping a good eighteen inches between them.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and John swiftly shuts the window and steps away, arranging himself casually by the buffet table as the door unlocks, then swings open. It’s two of the priests, one pointing John’s P90 at John’s chest, the other with his arms full of documents and a cheery, friendly smile that just makes Rodney nervous.

“Welcome, gifts of the Ancestors,” he says. “I hope you have enjoyed your feast. You may need the energy before the night is through.”

“Feast. Yeah,” says John, eyes narrow. “Energy for what, now?”

“To spread your gift, of course. Your seed is precious, and will create many heirs of the Ancestors to continue our great work.” He bows slightly, and backs up. “So you must eat, and drink. This is a blessing to both our peoples, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay. And one you shall enjoy, I think.” And with that, he turns and leaves, his companion following.

“See,” says John, reaching for the window again. “Told you. Breeding.” He shudders a little. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

It’s not a short drop, Rodney thinks, looking out the window. It’s ten feet straight down, although John claims that they can dangle from the window sill and drop from there. Honestly, Rodney’s not sure he has the coordination to pull that off. 

“Look, it’s easy,” says John, glancing out at the bushes below and the deserted back yard. He hops up on the sill and grabs the inside edge of the window frame, shimmying his body out the window. He slips gracefully into a hang directly off the sill and drops down into the bush below. Rodney leans out, grits his teeth, and–

That’s the sound of the door latch being lifted, and Rodney panics, spins around, and John hisses “ _Rodney! >” and Rodney has no choice but to _jump out the window_ to his death._

_Surprisingly, he lands solidly on a relatively soft surface that grunts when he sits up. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, rolling off of John. His bare wrist brushes along John’s cheekbone, just barely, and this time the swell of anxiousness and relief is nearly manageable._

_John sits up just as footsteps thunder into the room and shouts ring out. “Come on!” he says, grabbing Rodney’s shirt collar and tugging him upright. “They pretty much know where we went!”_

_***_

_And that’s how they end up here, trapped together in a very small cave on an alien planet, trying to keep as far apart as they can when there’s barely room for one person, let alone two fidgety, full grown men._

_And it’s not like they’ve never been trapped together in a small, rapidly cooling space before–they’ve had to engage in the time-honored SGC tradition of huddling for warmth plenty of times in the past few years. But usually, the rest of the team is there. And _usually_ , they’re not fighting off the effects of some wacky emotion-transferring Ancient device._

_But it’s cold and getting colder, and Rodney’s starting to shiver harder now. And if he’s cold, he can’t imagine how Colonel No-Body-Fat over there must be feeling._

_He’s pretty sure he can hear John’s teeth chattering, and he lets out a long sigh. It’s too dark to continue towards the gate, and it’s not like there’s anywhere else to go, and the priest-soldier-whatevers haven’t found them yet, so they might as well get comfortable–or as comfortable as they can, with this bizarre sharing thing going on. “Hey,” he hisses. “Sheppard.”_

_“What?” Yeah, definitely shivering like crazy over there, but John’s tone is still full of that forbidding warrior-man tone he gets when he’s trying to be stoic. _Idiot_ , thinks Rodney fondly, and scoots the few inches to John’s side, carefully putting an arm around the solidly clothed section of John at the shoulders and tugging him against him. _

_“You’re freezing,” he says. “I need you at least semi-functional if we’re going to make it out of here tomorrow.”_

_John’s body stiffens the moment Rodney touches him, but the shivers start to subside after a few moments. Carefully, Rodney wedges his other arm between them and under John’s neck, dodging the truly tantalizing skin just under his ear, and the pale nape of his neck (not something he’s ever noticed on a guy before, but John’s kind of just special like that)._

_Rodney takes a deep breath and tries to focus on what they’re going to do once the hordes of priests searching for them clear out, but it’s not easy when all he can smell is John’s sweat (which, eww, why is that even appealing, but somehow it is), and John’s warmth is seeping through five layers of clothing to settle deliciously against Rodney’s belly and thighs._

_The adrenaline is finally leaving his body, now, and he lets his body drift into the familiar sensation of John close at hand. John’s not shivering at all anymore, and his shoulders are starting to relax, just a little, so they’re not stuck up by his ears anymore. He ever leans back, pressing himself into Rodney more closely, although Rodney is pretty sure it’s an unconscious movement. John’s not the type to let himself enjoy anything even remotely like _cuddling_. Well. _huddling._ For warmth._

_Rodney has no shame there, though. He’s comfortable in his masculinity (his insecurities tend to be more concerned with his competence and courage and less with his gender and sexuality). He’s got no problem being snuggled by Teyla or Ronon or even Lorne or Cadman if the situation requires it._

_Of course, John is a special case. In a lot of ways._

_He fights the bizarre, nearly overwhelming urge to rub the patch of John’s warm, hard, cotton-covered stomach where his hand is resting, but just barely._

_It’s not like Rodney’s spent years lusting over his straight best friend. Or, well–okay, yes, that’s pretty much what’s been going on. He tries not to think about it most of the time, because honestly, what good could come of that, but sometimes, in a warming cave on an alien planet, a guy can’t help but think about–well, _things >.__

__John shifts a little, just a little bit to get more comfortable, and it nudges Rodney’s shirt up, catching on the fabric of John’s._ _

__And before Rodney can push what he’d been thinking about far far down into his repressed subconscious, John makes a choked sound and freezes, not even breathing._ _

__And that’s when Rodney realizes that the feeling he’s been having? That contented post–adrenaline, possibly-in-love-with-John-Sheppard feeling? Thing is, they’re not just coming from _him.__ _

__“John–” he says, hand clenching a little in John’s shirt, “I–”_ _

__“I can’t–” John says, “You–” And he falls silent. There’s a long moment where that awful stiffness of John’s shoulders is back, but then he lets out a long breath, shuddering a little. Rodney can almost _hear_ John having some sort of long, involved talk with himself, maybe pysching himself up for something or maybe talking himself down. Rodney knows better than to press at this point–a few years ago, he’d be pushing, be asking John what’s up, if he’s okay. But he _knows_ John now, knows him like he knows himself, and so he waits, lets John process in the way he needs to._ _

__John is his best friend, and a great guy, and absolutely _gorgeous_ , and he’s incredible with guns and killing and stuff, but the whole sharing-feelings thing? Not so much with that._ _

__Finally, John takes another deep breath. He reaches down deliberately, hand hovering just above Rodney’s, and stops._ _

__Rodney holds his breath._ _

__And then, minutely, John relaxes a little so their skin meets again._ _

__Suddenly it’s like the floodgates have opened, and he’s filled with John’s confusion and guilt, longing and regret, understanding and belonging and _rightness_. He curls closer, reflecting it all back, letting it wash through both of them until they’re both shuddering with the weight of what they’re sharing._ _

__Then John pulls back, rolls over, and presses closer, chest-to-chest with Rodney. “Yeah,” he says, voice hoarse. “Me too, Rodney,” and he _kisses_ him, lips soft and plush and oh-so-sweet, and Rodney wishes so very much that they were in a bed, somewhere safe, because right now all he wants to do is to bury himself in that fucking kiss. But he’s worn out from running, full of worry for Teyla and Ronon, and emotionally exhausted, and his eyes keep drifting shut of their own accord._ _

__So instead, he lets John pull away with a tangible wash of regret, wraps his arms tighter around him, and tucks his head into the crook of John’s neck._ _

__And eventually, his breathing evens out and he sleeps, while John lays awake, vigilant, arms tight around Rodney’s body._ _

__***_ _

__There’s no time to talk about it in the morning, though, because he wakes to John’s hand shaking his shoulder and his voice hissing “Rodney! We gotta move!”_ _

__So they’re running again a minute later, stumbling through the trees, dodging bushes and streams and other obstacles._ _

__The priests are just a hundred feet behind them when they clear the treeline, but they’re catching up, fresher than John and Rodney as well as much more familiar with the area. Rodney is just beginning to panic a little when light bursts forth ahead from the Stargate and a familiar ship blasts through._ _

__“John? Rodney?” crackles through the radio, and Rodney nearly laughs with relief at Teyla’s voice. The puddlejumper speeds towards them, then spins, dropping down and lowering the hatch just enough for them to jump on, then lifting back up before it has finished shutting. Rodney and John both grin at the sight of Teyla, Ronon, Major Lorne, and a team of Marines._ _

__“Looks like you didn’t need that rescue after all,” says Lorne with a wide grin._ _

__“We appreciate the lift,” John says, catching his breath as the gate closes, then redials. “Now get us out of here.”_ _

__***_ _

__Elizabeth’s eyes widen at the explanation of the device and what it does, gaze flicking from John to Rodney and back. “And it’s only with each other?” she asks, curious._ _

__Rodney nods. “I’m not sure what use it originally had–interrogative technique, sex toy, training tool, whatever–but I’d like to turn it off, as soon as possible.”_ _

__“John?”_ _

__He leans back in his chair. “It’s uh, not exactly the most convenient thing, feeling Rodney’s feelings. So yeah.”_ _

__Elizabeth nods decisively. “I’ll put together a negotiating party of people without the gene. Meanwhile, you two have had quite a day. Maybe you should get some rest.”_ _

__“If you’ll excuse me, everyone, I’m covered in who knows how many allergens. I’m going to take a shower, and a nap, and then maybe have lunch.” Rodney stands, rolling stiff shoulders._ _

__“Sounds like a plan,” John stands too. “Elizabeth, let me know what you get from these guys.”_ _

__She nods. “I will.”_ _

__Rodney pushes past John on the way out, forearm brushing against John’s in passing, and there’s a bust of anticipation, nervousness, and something soft and sweet. It’s nothing Rodney can really describe, but it warms him through and through. As John falls in step beside him, he can’t help but think how much easier this is than actually talking about things. Still, there’s something almost dishonest about it–while he’s certainly grateful to get a glimpse at the Major Sheppard that’s under all that hair and sass, he’d like to be able to maybe touch John and _not_ share every single emotion he’s feeling. It just sort of gets embarrassing for both of them, really, if he thinks about it too hard. _ _

__But for now, it’s easiest to walk silently through the corridors, knuckles brushing occasionally, reassuringly, and to both step through Rodney’s door. It’s easy to fall together, hands sliding beneath shirts, belts sliding open, clothes falling to the floor. They’re in nearly constant contact, now, and when their chests press together all Rodney can feel is that same thrum of _rightness_ from before, in the cave. He’s not sure which of them it’s coming from, or if it’s just both of them amplifying each other, but all he can think is that he’s right where he wants to be._ _

__***_ _

__“Colonel?” Rodney wakes with a start and reaches for the radio on the nightstand, fumbling it into his ear. “Dr. McKay?” He grabs the second one, tosses it onto John’s chest (John’s _bare_ chest, John’s _amazing_ chest, John’s chest that he _came all over last night_ –and he cuts off this line of thought before it gets too far, because he’s in serious danger of just falling into a loop like that forever), and clears his throat._ _

__“McKay. What’s going on?”_ _

__“Rodney, we have the device. It seems to be some sort of long range communicator. It is perhaps broken, but I believe I will be able to reverse the effects,” says Radek. A hand brushes over Rodney’s belly and he nearly lets out a yelp or a moan or some other sound he’d really not want broadcast over the main radio channels when the wave of sleepy attraction sweeps into him._ _

__“That’s, uh–” he reaches down, smacks at John’s hand and rolls on his side, away from Lt. Col. Tease-a-Lot. “That’s great. I’ll just, um, find Colonel Sheppard, then.” The hand is now sliding over his boxer-clad ass, satisfaction telegraphing through it into Rodney. “We’ll–” he swallows, because there are _fingers_ working their way into his waistband and curling around his bare hip. “We’ll be there in, um, an hour? Or two?”_ _

__“Rodney–” Radek’s voice is perplexed. “You said this was urgent?”_ _

__“Yes, well.” Rodney hopes the strangled tone of his voice is muffled in static or something, because there’s a warm, wet mouth leaving lush kisses and a trail of mischievous glee across his shoulder blades. “I think I might, um, have to finish something first. Give me an hour, Radek.” He jumps as John’s hand curls around his cock. “Maybe two!” He yanks the radio out of his ear and rolls back onto his back to glare at Sheppard, who’s–_ _

__“Sheppard.”_ _

__–who’s _talking into his radio_ , completely calmly, as if he’s not rock hard and rubbing himself against Rodney’s hip, as if he’s not _jerking Rodney off while chatting with their boss_._ _

__Finally, _finally_ , John puts the radio aside and props himself up on an elbow, hand still making loose strokes up and down Rodney’s cock. “So, good news. Elizabeth got the device. Sounds like we can get cured and stop avoiding each other,” he says, conversationally, and Rodney shoves at him until he falls backwards, laughing, Rodney straddling his hips and tugging at his boxers._ _

__“Later,” says Rodney, bending down until he’s pressed against John’s perfect, hairy, lean chest. “ _Much, much_ later.”_ _

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sink or Swim [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516008) by [librarychick_94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarychick_94/pseuds/librarychick_94)




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